


Post Break-Up Sex (What Did You Expect?)

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A+ communication skills, Academy Era, Denial, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hook-Up, Insecure Fitz, Jealousy, Or not, Science Babies, but not much angst, everyone's at-the-academy, like major denial, slightly AU, what happens in the boiler room stays in the boiler room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma goes through an unpleasant break-up, Fitz is there for her every step of the way –after all, what are best friends for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to agentcalliope for beta reading and egging me on.
> 
> This fic was mostly inspired by the song Post Break-Up Sex by The Vaccines.

****_The Boiler Room. Saturday._  
  
– Jemma –

"Maybe it's for the best," Jemma said mournfully, not for the first time that night. "We weren't very well matched, were we?"

Fitz nodded his agreement, his expression unusually wary. Jemma strongly suspected Skye had tasked him with monitoring her behavior for the evening.

As on any Saturday night, the Boiler Room was crowded and louder that she liked. Ordinarily, Jemma would have turned in by now, but the very last thing she wanted at the moment was to hole up for more introspection. There had been _more_ than enough of that going on lately. Skye had all but ordered Jemma to go out and have fun.  
  
Tonight, Jemma was decided to enjoy herself –it would be a waste to revert to brooding when she was so pleasantly buzzed.

It had been exactly 9 days since Will had broken up with her.

She had gained a lot of clarity over the past week and came to realize that she wasn't as torn up about the situation as she probably ought to be. She and Will had dated for almost six months, making it her longest relationship to date, but it wasn't without its problems. Will was overprotective to the point of being controlling sometimes, which Jemma found increasingly offensive. His impulsiveness, which bordered on recklessness, also drove her up the wall.

Jemma's default approach was to analyze every facet of every situation until she felt sufficiently prepared, which somewhat clashed with his "jump first, think later" mentality. So no, they certainly weren't a perfect match.

Nevertheless, his ultimatum had completely blindsided her. In retrospect, there were many signs and red flags that she either missed or ignored.

To her puzzlement, the mutual hostility between Will and Fitz had been total and immediate. While the later conscientiously avoided ever breaching the topic, Will's frustration mounted with time. The pointed remarks about 'Fitz' being her favorite word made way for snide queries regarding the "true nature of their study sessions", which lead on several occasions to nasty arguments that left her close to tears. As their rows became more frequent, Jemma grew aware the fragile equilibrium they had might not hold for long.

Most unfortunately, with Will so frequently dwelling over the supposed grey area of their friendship, Jemma had started _noticing_ things about Fitz. Not that she'd ever thought him unattractive before. He was a handsome guy, obviously, well-formed and symmetrical, if a little pasty. Nor her usual type, but fine in his own way. Lately, she had to make a conscious effort _not_ to stare at his singularly elegant fingers while he tweaked his latest prototype.  Furthermore, inappropriate thoughts sometimes crossed her mind unexpectedly, when they stood close together in the lab.

And then there was the way his entire face lit up for the smallest of pleasures. Just the other day, she'd sneaked him a candy bar during Progressor Vaughn's endless lecture, just to see that glint of true joy once more. Not that she would ever buy something of such horrendous nutritional value for herself, but in that regard, Fitz was a bit of a lost cause.

Still, she never would have thought Will could plainly ask her to cut Fitz off entirely. The very request was absurd. There was nothing _wrong_ going on between her and Fitz. Their brains perfectly complimented each other, which was more precious to her than any other kind of relationship at that point in her life. The fact that they were also dear friends, that he so readily made her laugh, reflect or boil, was a delightful bonus.

When all was said and done, Fitz was invaluable to her, and she couldn't trade him for the world. She didn't want to choose, but Will had her backed into a corner. Nine days later, there she was, single, tipsy and desperate for some fun.

Jemma was pulled out of her thoughts when she recognized a song she liked blasting through the speakers. Fidgeting on her bar stool and itching to join the dance floor, she beamed at Fitz, who refused to take the hint.

"I want to dance, Fitz" she proclaimed, deliberately phrasing it as a request rather than a question.

As she'd expected, Fitz' expression alternated between horror and resignation until he huffed a theatrical sigh that signaled his reluctant agreement. She knew him so well.

**  
– Fitz –**

He really ought to learn to say no to her. It wasn't fair that she could so easily manipulate him into doing things she knew he loathed –especially dancing.

Well, to an extent, anyway. Fitz merely stood in silent resistance with a beer in his hand, facing her while she swayed and moved her arms in a rather confusing manner. Jemma was convinced to be an outstanding dancer, which was adorable, really, given how embarrassing her drunken dancing antics could become.

For the moment, he was happy just staring at her. Jemma was a little flushed from the bizarre wiggling she had going on and she would probably be appalled if she could see the way her hair stuck limply to the side of her face. But at least she looked like she was having fun, which came as an immense relief to Fitz.

He had trouble picking which was most harrowing for him, between seeing Jemma constantly tucked under _Hogface_ 's muscular arm, or having to cheer her up after the undeserving jerk dumped her.

Hogface –Will– was everything Fitz wasn't: brainy yet not a nerd, tall, bold, muscular and effortlessly charming. A benevolent jock –or as much of a jock as you could find in Sci-Tech, anyway. If one was to draw a Venn diagram of Jemma's tastes in men, Will would be smack in the middle of it.

He really needed to outgrow that stupid crush of his. So much hopeless pining couldn't be good for the health. Besides, they were, friends, _best_ friends, a fact she liked to reaffirm as often as any conversation allowed.

After an excruciatingly long stint on the dance floor, Jemma finally signaled she was ready for a break and made her way back to a quieter corner by the bar with him in tow. Once seated, she gestured for another margarita, her third, not that he was counting, which the bartender outrageously Tom Cruised from start to finish. To Fitz' utter dismay, she rewarded the man with a few claps and one of those warm smiles that rendered him stupid on a daily basis.

"I need a boyfriend," Jemma declared longingly as she watched the barkeeper retreat to the other end of the counter. Fitz' heartbeat instantly picked up with dread at the declaration.

"What's the rush? You _just_ got rid of the last one," he reminded her with feigned detachment.

"I didn't get rid of him. _He_ dumped _me_ ," she said sourly. "Me!"

"He's a dimwit." Fitz stated with absolute conviction before taking a calming gulp of beer.

Jemma concurred by downing half her cocktail in one draught.

"Do you think he'd be interested?" she asked, nodding her chin toward the barman in the least discreet way possible.

"In what?"

"In _me_ ," Jemma huffed indignantly.

Fitz could only stare back at her, mouth gaping. Really? _Really_? Would he be spared _nothing_?

"Don't look so shocked! Though it may be news to you, I'm not exactly an ugly duckling, you know?"

"I never said–"

"I have a pulse, you know!?"

 _For the love of–_ "Jemma. I think you may have had too much to drink."

"Did you know," she abruptly asked, a worrisome gleam to her eye, "that before Skye started seeing Trip, I thought she had a thing for you?"

"Skye? _Our_ Skye?" Fitz asked, not even attempting to hide his disbelief.

"Of course, _our_ Skye. She's always telling me how great you are, how charming, how _sexy…_ "

"Okay, stop," he grimaced and sighed deeply, throwing his head back. How many times did he have to tell Skye to mind her own business? He knew very well that she wasn't the least bit attracted to him. It clearly was another mortifying and completely misguided way of trying to help him out. "I _really_ don't want to know."

**  
– Jemma –**

"But do _you_ like her?" Jemma pressed. The dynamics of Fitz and Skye's relationship had always intrigued her. The two of them already knew each other by the time Skye was transferred to Jemma's dorm, and she had missed the beginning of their odd friendship. Although they usually came across as close siblings, Skye's recurrent admiring remarks never missed to throw Jemma for a loop.

"Skye? God, no," he shook is head categorically. "I mean, she's great and all but–"

"Someone else, then?" she insisted.

"I– What are you asking, Jemma?" Fitz asked, his eyes widening in alarm, and rubbed the back of his head with his palm in unease.

Truthfully, Jemma had no idea what he was doing. By unspoken agreement, this was the one topic they never breached. They could tease each other senseless from morning to midnight about any given subject, from the way his curls blew up in humid weather to that one embarrassing quantum mechanics blunder he would never let her live down, but their love lives, or lack thereof, were clearly off-limits. Jemma didn't care to examine why it felt so loaded.  
  
Until now.

"It's just that, from the day we met, I don't think I've ever seen you with a girl."

And how could that be? Angling closer, Jemma allowed herself to look at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, staring unabashedly. Other than the flash of panic in his eyes and the improvable haircut, she couldn't find one thing wrong with him.

"Well," Fitz fidgeted uncomfortably. "Maybe there are things you don't know about me."

"Really? Like what?" Jemma asked before she could think better. It came out more breathily than she'd hoped.

His mouth opened and closed, until he settled for staring at her with a gobsmacked expression that would have made her laugh in other circumstances.

They spent hours together every single day and knew each other's favorite everythings better than their own. Jemma routinely divined his exact mood just by observing the set of his shoulders, and she could tell which Doctor incarnation he would feel like watching in the evening depending on the progress they made on their current project during the day. His mother called _her_ for news when she couldn't get a hold of her son, which happened more often than not.

There wasn't much mystery left between her and Fitz. The last things she ignored about him were all… carnal. She was aware of that, but was he?

His eyes fixed on her mouth and stayed there until he shook himself and hastily looked away. She saw it, plain as day, and felt her face heat rapidly in response.

There it was, that twitch of warning in the pit of her stomach, the same one she felt when she wore something tight and caught his eyes lingering on her body, something ominous that told her she was enjoying this more than she should. Her pulse was quickening, she could feel it beat restlessly against her throat.

Jemma licked her lips, watching his eyes dart from her eyes to her mouth in earnest.

She could all but hear Skye's voice in her head, screaming _Jemma Simmons, you horny cow!_ in the frankly terrible English accent she liked to affect when she was riling her up.

At this point, she had to admit there was a tenuous possibility their relationship might not be entirely platonic after all.

**  
– Fitz –**

He was sweating. Could she tell he was sweating? He suspected she might. She usually didn't miss much. He couldn't help it, the way she was looking at him made him remarkably nervous. He'd seen it before, but wasn't usually on the receiving end of it. Oh, he'd _imagined_ what it would be like, to have that look aimed his way. Dreamt about it a few times as well, the kind of dreams you didn't brag about to your best friend-slash-chem lab partner in the morning.

"Fitz," she started in the forcedly reasonable tone she reserved for presenting him with her most contentious theories, "I have an idea."

He braced himself and hoped for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the delay. So little time, so many stories that need written. (So. Many.)

**‒ Jemma ‒**

In Jemma's admittedly limited experience, the direct approach was usually preferable. Her assertiveness was an acquired skill –always the youngest in her class, petite and sweet-looking, she'd learned the hard way she would have to fight to be taken seriously and to obtain what she desired. That was certainly true in the field of her academic endeavors, but she also found it favorably applied to more personal issues. Once the element of surprise faded, her bluntness usually gathered very positive return from her suitors.

Naturally, Jemma's belief in declaring precisely and unequivocally her preferred outcome often came at odds with her innate shyness.

Discounting Fitz's visibly anxious expression, she took a big breath, squared her shoulders, and made the plunge.

"Recent events have established that perhaps I am not cut for romantic relationships," she informed him, her voice trembling more than she would have liked. "I thought we‒ I thought Will and I had something good going on, and clearly, I was mistaken. I'm certainly not in any hurry to repeat... all that unpleasantness," she stated with a grimace. "So, I would like to suggest that we extend our partnership to more personal areas. Explore our compatibility in the field of‒ basic biological urges."

The statement was met with dead silence. His expression hadn't changed much from the slight frown of worry she'd noticed earlier, but his eyes now looked a little glazed over. Was he _even_ listening?

"I mean, our compatibility has surpassed my hopes by far in every discipline we've tested it to date, so I'm thinking‒ wouldn't it be a waste to fail from expanding it further? So long as we're both unattached, of course," she amended with a tense smile.

That was not her most eloquent speech to date. In fact, the offer didn't sound as reasonable as it had in her head.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy socializing with the opposite sex, but she was a very busy young woman with no taste for drama and precious little time to waste on sterile flirting. She'd accomplished more at her young age than many scholars twice her age could only dream of achieving, and that came at the expense of a certain youthful idleness.

By allowing her relationship with Will to last as long as it had, she'd ventured far away from her comfort zone and, frankly, it wasn't an experiment she was in any rush to repeat. In fact, it had scared her off relationships for the time being. Relationship politics were evidently not her strong suit ‒who had that kind of time, anyway‒ but the prospect of going any significant amount of time without the benefits of seeing someone seemed equally unacceptable to Jemma.

She liked kissing, what was wrong with that? She didn't mind nestling into a man's shoulder, either, late night conversations, breakfast in bed. She enjoyed watching documentaries in said bed, and losing the thread because her viewing partner had managed to distract her. And she loved sex, damn it! She'd made it her life's calling to study the power of biology, and sex was as powerful as it got.

The mere idea of sharing such activities with Fitz made her belly flutter with nerves and warmth. They were friends, great friends, both single, rather easy on the eyes and, as far as she could tell, either too busy or reluctant to date. More importantly, they were very good at completing, challenging and pleasing each other. Certainly, the applications of that deserved to be further experimented.

She risked another quick glance at Fitz, who hadn't said a word in a very long time, and willed her face to stop burning. The color had risen on his own cheeks and his eyes kept jumping from her eyes to her mouth, which she considered a sign her premise may not be completely outlandish after all. And yet, his expression didn't translate into enthusiastic approval at all. If anything, he looked a little aghast.

Could she take it back? Write this off as a joke? No, she scolded herself internally. Jemma Simmons wasn't one to evade taking responsibility, even for her flawed theories. Either way, _someone_ had to break the silence before it lengthened beyond mere awkwardness.

"I mean–" she faltered and took a quick gulp of liquid courage. "I'm single. You're single. Surely you have… needs, too?"

 

**‒ Fitz ‒**

Jemma's trailing voice finally snapped him out of his trance. How long had he been gaping at her like an Operations simpleton? Long enough, apparently, to bring a glint of panic to her eye.

He knew her faces, _all_ her faces, and usually read her expression so easily she might as well come with subtitles. He could see unmistakably that her state of mind had shifted from _'I will listen to your rejoinders in the interest of allowing you to save face when I inevitably win this argument'_ to _'Quick, let's find a way to deactivate this compound before it explodes in our faces'_.

And now, she wanted to talk about his _needs_.

Somewhere over the course of a perfectly normal Saturday night, the conversation had taken a U-turn and abruptly veered into 'alternate reality' territory.

"I don't know what to say, Jemma," he muttered before the gaping lull in the conversation swallowed them both. "You know I‒" he started, realizing too late he had no idea how to finish the sentence. The only truthful response he could think of that wouldn't get him in trouble was that she might have considered emailing him her arguments before hand, just so he wasn't caught so off guard he was robbed of the capacity to string a simple sentence together.

She looked at him expectantly for a few moments, letting out a small sigh when it became plain he would not elaborate further.

"I don't, actually," she said, pinning his gaze with hers. "But I would very much like to."

"I'm not– I'm _really_ not good at–" he gestured between them, "all that."

"Well," she said decisively, "maybe _we_ could do something about it."

Was she more intoxicated than she appeared to be? She was a little flushed and _clearly_ more uninhibited than usual, but they were both nursing their third drink ‒the Boiler Room was hardly diligent in its enforcement of drinking laws‒ and Fitz didn't feel anywhere near no-filter-drunk. Usually, _she_ was the one who had to help haul _him_ up back to his dorm, if they overindulged. Not that it happen all that often. For one thing, Fitz was well aware that once inebriated, he was much likelier to admit something to her he would come to regret the next morning.

The problem was, his lizard brain had taken over the moment she had offered to tend to his biological urges. His first instinct was to grab her hand and race her to the nearest secluded location, when he should be listening to the subtext, here. There she was, struggling to open up about her very recent, no doubt traumatic breakup and grasping at ways to deal with it. His brain power should be solely dedicated to his being a reliable friend, not on conjuring obscene images derived from her preposterous drunken proposition.

Fitz had been painfully attracted to Jemma from the moment he first saw her. Of course he had: she was magnificent, smart as a whip, and completely devoid of the dreadful social awkwardness displayed by so many of their precocious peers, himself included. She could fit anywhere, it seemed, and everybody seemed to take a liking to her as soon as they met her. He had wasted month after month raking his brain for something adequately clever to say to her, to no avail. In the end, the matter had been taken out of his hands when they were assigned to chem lab together. From that moment on, his inclination had morphed into a vigorous crush that seemed to evade each and every one of his desperate attempts to smother it.

Every once in awhile, Skye would resolve to play matchmaker and bothered him morning, noon _and_ night, insisting he should ask Jemma out. Fitz shrugged it off every time. He knew exactly what kind of guys she was attracted to. He'd watched, powerless to alter the course of events, as she went on lunch dates, dinner dates and movie dates with a string of undeserving dingbats, until Hogface had come along and swept her off her feet with his easy smiles and charms.

Those six months had been an endless ordeal.

His being jealous was hardly news, but Fitz had been astonished to find that Hogface felt equally threatened by him, as he'd made abundantly clear. Fitz didn't understand it, nor Jemma's avoidance of the issue altogether.

"What I'm trying to say," Jemma stated, gathering is attention once again, "is that– you know the saying about falling off a horse."

"I don't know how that applies here."

"Of course, it does! It's good advice to overcome any kind of failure, actually. You don't stay down. You get back up and you ride until you're sore."

"I don't think that's the actual saying," he said faintly as he tried to erase the mental picture her words had evoked. He willed his eyes to focus on a single point next to her head instead of zeroing on various parts of her anatomy in a manner that had to be making her uncomfortable. How did one make sure, really, indisputably _sure_ , that you weren't in the middle of a sex dream? Because this was sounding increasingly like something likely to be interrupted by the shrill sound of his alarm clock.

"I mean–" she tried again, and he was quick to stop her this time.

"I think maybe you should stop talking," he said with a nervous chuckle and watched her amber eyes lit up with defiance.

"Know what? I think you're right," she acquiesced, sliding down from her bar stool and taking a step to close the distance between them.

Fitz's heart started pounding madly in his chest when Jemma's fingers grazed his cheek, before settling on the nape of his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his chin as she inched closer and all their surroundings faded to black. Although it felt as if his life might depend on the imminent touch of her lips, Fitz didn't dare to move forward and accelerate the inevitable. He just stood motionless as Jemma softly pressed her mouth to his, sending a wave of scalding heat coursing through him and causing something akin to a panic reaction in his vascular system.

This was _nothing_ like the few late-night drunken kisses he'd had up to that point.

When she took advantage of his sharp intake of breath to deepen the kiss, giving him a taste of sugar and lime, Fitz knew he was done for. He wrapped his arm around her waist, allowing her warm to mold her body against his, and did his best to refrain from moaning out loud from the sensory overload.

 

**‒ Jemma ‒**

The curls at the top of his neck were softer than she expected and she enjoyed running her fingers through them. In fact, everything about him seemed to exceed expectations she hadn't known she had.

She could tell he wasn't very experienced, but he was, as usual, intensely focused and attentive, following her lead just long enough to allow his own ideas to blossom and grow. His hesitation eased, Fitz began altering the paradigm of the experiment to thrilling results, tasting her, taunting her, tracing her lips with his tongue until she shivered.

The kiss went on so long by the time they separated, they were both short of breath and a little disoriented. His forehead resting against hers, Fitz's hands kept running up and down her back softly in a way that prevented her heartbeat from slowing down to it's regular rhythm.

"Okay?" She asked, surprised by the ragged town of her voice.

"I'm not sure that's an adequate term," he answered with a shuddering breath. "How drunk are you?"

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, unsure if she should feel affronted by the question.

"Jemma, I–" Fitz looked down, his expression troubled, "I love this‒ really, I do. But I don't want to feel like I'm taking advantage–"

"I assure you that I'm sober enough," she said, concealing the surge of affection the statement had caused with a mutinous tilt of her chin.

When he still looked unconvinced, Jemma huffed a theatrical sigh and took a step back to stand on her right leg, lifting her other foot a flawless six inches above ground. Ignoring his furrowed brows, she started reciting, "Roentgenium. Darmstadtium. Meitnerium. Hassium. Bohrium. Seaborgium–"

"You're supposed to count, not recite the periodic table backwards," Fitz admonished. His voice was stern but she didn't miss the amusement crackling in his eyes.

"Could I do that if I were drunk?" she asked, barely abstaining from rolling her eyes.

"Probably," he grinned, feigning shock when she gently slapped his shoulder. "Okay, okay, I believe you."

"Are _you_ drunk?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"After all that? Not even a little bit," he replied with intent, grabbing her hands in his.

His worries seemingly assuaged, Fitz drew her to him so suddenly she would have lost her balance if not for his hands on her waist, sealing his mouth to hers again.

"I'm sorry," he paused to whisper against her lips. "It's just that, I've wanted to do that for so long."

Jemma gave in to their most scorching kiss yet, a long exploration that was only interrupted by their gasps for air, and ignored the jolt of both pleasure and alarm that kept resonating through her after his admission. _I've wanted to do that for so long._ It wasn't until she'd heard the words spoken aloud that she realized, much to her surprise, that the sentiment was likely reciprocal, however reluctant she'd been to recognize it. That didn't bode well for a no strings attached, no drama arrangement, now ‒did it?


End file.
